Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mar. And sooth the diuell that I warne thee from.
Mar. O but remember this another day:
Mar. When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow:
Mar. And say (poore Margaret) was a Prophetesse:
Mar. Liue each of you the subiects to his hate,
Mar. And he to yours, and all of you to Gods.
Mar. Exit.
Buc. Buc.
Buc. My haire doth stand an end to heare her curses.
Riu. Riu.
Riu. And so doth mine, I muse why she's at libertie.
Rich. Rich.
Rich. I cannot blame her, by Gods holy mother,
Rich. She hath had too much wrong, and I repent
Rich. My part thereof, that I haue done to her.
Mar. Mar.
Mar. I neuer did her any to my knowledge.
Rich. Yet you haue all the vantage of her wrong:
Rich. I was too hot, to do somebody good,